


Runs In The Family

by sparxwrites



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Consensual Incest, Cunnilingus, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Impregnation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pregnancy Kink, Sibling Incest, Vaginal Sex, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: He does love her so, like this, above him and around him and falling apart to his mouth and hands. His sister is so strong, usually, steel and granite and ice, hardened by necessity and trauma, and he’s so proud of her strength. But, in the privacy of her own chambers, when she softens enough to whimper and gasp, to press elegant, fine-boned fingers over her own mouth to stifle any louder sounds… then, he loves her, loves her soft and delicate edges, loves the fact that he is the only one allowed to see her like this.
(In which Percy and Cassandra are determined to, ah... keep Whitestone in the family line. They're wrong, and they know it, but they make it work.)





	

This is how he apologises to her – on his knees, with her full skirts hitched up around her waist, and three fingers buried up to the knuckle in her soft, wet cunt as he tongues her clit until she comes hard and shuddering around him.

It’s not a _traditional_ apology, he knows. Not an _appropriate_ one either, given their connection, given the shared blood in their veins and their mutual last name and the way they call one another _brother_ and _sister_ respectively. But tradition got their family murdered, slaughtered like lambs by the visitors they welcomed into their home, and _appropriate_ is not a concept that’s been applicable to their relationship since he left her to die in the snow all those years ago.

They’re wrong, and they know it, but they make it work.

And he does _love_ her so, like this, above him and around him and falling apart to his mouth and hands. His sister is so strong, usually, steel and granite and ice, hardened by necessity and trauma, and he’s so _proud_ of her strength. But, in the privacy of her own chambers, when she softens enough to whimper and gasp, to press elegant, fine-boned fingers over her own mouth to stifle any louder sounds… then, he loves her, loves her soft and delicate edges, loves the fact that _he_ is the only one allowed to see her like this.

He pushes his fingers in deeper, fucks her three-full and crooked to press against the spot inside her that makes her moan, gush slick against his already-soaked hand and hungry mouth. The noises she makes are so _pretty_ , still so proper and refined despite the debauchery of it all, and her squeal when he grazes teeth feather-light across her clit makes him so hard it _aches_.

When she comes, it is to the broad of his tongue lapping at where she’s swollen and sensitive, to his fingers curled deep against the soft, slick places inside her. To the knowledge that this is only the _first_ of their evening’s activities, and that greater pleasures are yet to come.

Cassandra can always count on her brother to scratch this itch that she gets, to fill her ‘til she no longer feels hollow and empty, to reach the ache _deep_ inside her that only he can soothe. 

She looks down at him, when he’s done – satisfied and sad all at once – and strokes the back of one finger down his cheek. It’s slick beneath her touch, shiny, slippery with _her_ , and it brings her a joy she doesn’t quite understand to know that his dazed eyes and swollen lips are _her_ doing.

“Thank you, brother,” she murmurs, leaning down to kiss his forehead. She smiles when he tilts his face, captures her lips, instead, lets her taste the salt-musk of her own spend on his tongue. They kiss less often than they fuck, but Cassandra _lives_ for the times they do, the yielding warmth of Percival’s lips on hers and the way he licks deep and slow, molten, into her mouth. A perfect moment of languid pleasure, a precious intimacy shared in the gaps between far greater ones. “…Shall we…?”

As always, he goes easily to the bed, follows where she leads with the slightest of touches. He strips himself for her, from the waist down, and she watches with hungry eyes as he peels the the tight cling of his jodhpurs away to reveal his cock, jutting proud up towards his stomach. She _loves_ that she can make him like this, her beautiful brother, make him so hard just from watching her come undone – and her mouth waters at the sight of him, thick and hot, head purpled with blood and slick from his own eagerness.

That, though, is for another time. For now, her cunt aches from him more than her mouth does, with a deep throb that _must_ be satisfied.

“You agree with me, Percival, don’t you?” she says, as she straddles him, though she knows he would not be doing this if he didn’t. She sinks down onto him slowly, feels the luxurious slide of him deep inside her where she’s wet and open – and just a few weeks ago, this _hurt_ , made her ache and burn deep inside to take something so big and new, and look how much _progress_ she’s made. Now, she can take him easily, root him inside her first try until she can feel him deep, hot and hard, filling her in ways no one else ever has, no one else ever _could_. “Whitestone _must_ be kept in the family. This- ah, _oh_ , _brother_ \- this is for a higher cause.”

If it was, once, it certainly isn’t now, but the lie makes things easier. She tells herself _higher cause_ even as she clenches around him, moans to know how deep he is inside her, because the alternative is admitting that this has gone far beyond _duty_ now. Admitting that she loves this, loves her tight, wet cunt spread wide around the fatness of her brother’s cock, that she rides him out of pleasure more than necessity.

“Oh, _oh- Yes_ , sister,” breathes Percival, both rapturous and tentative as always, like he can’t quite believe he’s allowed this after everything he’s done. He settles her skirts around them, hiding the point where they join as if that will hide the sin of what they do, and reaches up to hold her waist in the broad callous of his palms. “Yes, I do agree- but Cassie, _Cass_ , please, let me fill you-”

Laced into a tight corset-bodice, she's thin, almost fragile beneath his hands, but he knows that it’s an illusion. She has a spine of steel, after all, an unbreakable spirit that even the Briarwoods only managed to bend. So he fucks her, deep and hard, with thrusts that alternate between languid-slow and punishingly fast – she will not shatter under the force of it, he knows, will relish the ache that stays hours after he’s finished pounding into her and how _deep_ she can feel his spend inside her.

Neither of them know how they will explain it, when she starts swelling with child. It is inevitable that she will, given how often Percy fills her – four times this week alone, because he is nothing if not focused, dedicated, when he commits himself to a project – and how eagerly, how willingly she accepts his spend. It’s what they both want, more than anything, why they started these illicit meetings in the first place. To fill Cassandra with de Rolo seed, to turn her round and heavy and swollen with child, to ensure Whitestone would have heirs aplenty from the true family line.

The logical choice would be to find her a suitor, a husband. It would give Whitestone a Lord-by-marriage, and their coming heir a _legitimate_ lineage, all in one – but neither can bear to consider another man touching Cassandra, wooing her, taking her to bed. 

The mere thought of it makes Cassandra clench around her brother as he pushes deep into her, as though she could keep him inside her forever – makes Percival thrust up into her harder until she’s crying out in short, staccato-sharp bursts. She comes again, then, to the slap of her brother’s balls against her slick-wet cunt, and the slide of his cock deep within her, in the private, secret places she saves just for him. To the knowledge that, soon, he will fill her once more, and that soon she will grow fat with the fruits of their labour, with her brother’s child, without ever having tolerated the touch of another man.

She is, after all, quite sure that no one will be able to satisfy her like her Percival does. Because, despite all his faults, despite all his past sins that he has paid for with his tongue and fingers and thick, blood-hard cock… who could _ever_ know her better than her brother?

**Author's Note:**

> for [this prompt](https://criticalkink.dreamwidth.org/700.html?thread=96956#cmt96956) on the kinkmeme. i’m... kind of sorry? and a little ashamed? but not sorry enough to not post this, because i’m super pleased with how shamelessly, filthily smutty this came out.
> 
> find me @sparxwrites on tumblr for... usually, things slightly less filthy and messed-up than this, but not always.


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